Chapter One
Connor was royally screwed.
Horizontally. Vertically. Hypothetically. Literally… Okay, technically, the literal option had ended up out of reach. Wanting to have his first time with his boyfriend Austin on his eighteenth birthday had been a pipe dream of romantic delusion.
Connor braced in the passenger seat of his dad’s Jeep, teeth rattling as they bounced and jolted their way down the dirt road that led to his mom’s house. He swore this road was paved the last time he was here. Had they torn it up?
“Why can’t I stay with you?” Connor demanded. He’d asked politely, hinted gently, and his dad was either oblivious or pretending to be. Connor was too worn out and sore to worry that he was being a pain. His parents always found him to be a nuisance. That was why they’d shipped him off to boarding school on the other side of the country as soon as summer break was over.
It wasn’t summer yet, and Connor wasn’t used to seeing the area with sheets of rain falling on it. Maybe that was why the road was bumpy? Winter frost and rain had churned the dirt into something uneven and chaotic. During the summer it was only ever flat dirt. Connor remembered now. It had always been dirt.
“I don’t have the space at the moment,” his dad said. He cursed under his breath as the wheel went into a deep puddle.
Connor jolted, cringing at the pain that shot through his ribs. He cupped them and copied his dad’s curse, adding “stupid Peter” to the end.
“You live in a mansion. There’s plenty of room for me,” Connor said. Pain made his voice sharp and bladed. “Just let me stay with you. I’m eighteen, not a child. I can take care of myself, and I’m not going to get in the way of your work.”
His dad was a researcher. Connor had been at his workplace a few times, a partially submerged lab that was hard not to be impressed by. You took an elevator down and then you were in a building with one long stretch of glass walls holding back the ocean. His mom despised the lab, refusing to even set foot on the property above ground, but Connor had grown up diving and swimming with the ocean’s creatures. He’d never been afraid of the water pressing in.
“It’s an important turn in our development. My boss needs constant updates, and,” his dad waved a dismissive hand at Connor, “I don’t have time to meet all the conditions of your release.”
By release, his dad meant from jail.
Connor sank down in his seat. “You can just sign off that I’m doing it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I don’t need all the crap they want me to do. I didn’t beat up that kid because he was gay.” Connor had almost been charged with a hate crime. His saving grace had been the fact that the guy he’d beaten up claimed it happened before midnight. Before midnight, when Connor had still been a minor and therefore couldn’t be charged as an adult. That took his potential punishment from jailed assault to what he had now: his parents signing off forms to say he was reading selected material to help him overcome his bigotry.
People were furious about his light punishment. Before turning off his phone for good, Connor read articles about how being a privileged white boy let him get away with murder. As if there weren’t scuffles every day in a thousand different schools. None ofthemhad their faces blasted on every news outlet known to man.
“I know,” his dad said.
Connor looked at him in surprise. His dad’s focus was on the road, and the comment hadn’t been pointed or reluctant—just a simple fact. Connor’s dad never,evercoddled. If he said he believed Connor, he meant it.
Everyone thought that was why. Former friends, former best friends, and his teachers—who he reckoned knew him better than his parents—had refused to step forward in his defence. Hisboyfriendhad vanished when Connor was charged. Yet his dad knew it wasn’t a hate crime.
“Edith isn’t going to know that,” Connor said. “She believes it. I know she does.” She’d always thought he was a bad kid. Always fussed about him doing anything at all. Any mess in the house? Connor did it. Milk left out to spoil? Connor did it on purpose. Money missing from the house? Connor took it. Connor scowled to himself. As if he had to steal money when his dad would hand him hundred euro notes for ice cream.
“You can explain what happened yourself. Give her your side of it,” his dad said, distracted. “I believe there was an article about it?” His voice was unsure.
“Jesus, dad. There’s a huge scandal about me not getting jail time—there are dozens of articles about it, and every LGBT person out there has a million posts written about how I—and the entire criminal system—am a monster.”
“That may have been what Arthur was talking about.” His dad nodded, seemingly satisfied.
Okay. Maybe his dad believed him because he couldn’t be bothered enough to consider otherwise. Connor stewed on that, trying not to think that his version of events went:I was having a drink with my friends. It felt like someone punched a hole through my consciousness. I woke up in a jail cell.
“You know I’m not getting into college now, right? Nobody will have me after all this outrage.”
“Possibly,” his dad said, paying little heed to Connor.
Connor gritted his teeth. It wasn’t like he had big college aspirations. He’d applied, sure, because that was what everyone did. He was more interested in the locations of the colleges. If he were honest, he didn’t think he’d ever come back to this town. He’d made plans with Austin to be live-in workers overseas so they could pay their way somewhere hot in Europe until the college semester started. That obviously wasn’t happening now.
His mom’s house came into view, a two-storey farmhouse that overlooked a private beach. It had been the prized possession of the Holter family for generations. It was familiar, but it didn’t feel like coming home. Home was reserved for the dorms at school, where he’d spent nine months of every year since he’d turned twelve. He probably would have been sent away as young as seven if the law had allowed his parents to do it; they’d never had any interest in raising him. Connor often wondered how someone as meticulous as his mom had ended up with an unwanted pregnancy. He’d noticed over the years that anytime the news discussed abortion she had it turned off in nanoseconds.
“Alright.” His dad pulled up at the front door. “I’ll see you…” he trailed off.
That sounded about right.
